Skank Kurt and Dalton Sebastian
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: Cut and dry, this is just a series of verses containing one-shots about skank!Kurt and Dalton!Sebastian, pretty much flirting inappropriately and getting on each other's nerves.


**A/N:** _Written for the anon prompts 'write more skank!Kurt' and 'Sebastian thinks that Kurt has stolen a piece of his clothing'. _

_Dalton AU that assumes that Kurt, Sebastian, and Blaine are all in the same grade (juniors) when Kurt's dad is elected into Congress._

_Warning for language and mention of Blaine._

Sebastian couldn't find it. It had been more than a week now, and he couldn't find it. He took everything out of his drawers, pulled all of his clothes out of his closet, but still no luck. He wasn't particularly attached to his Dalton hoodie. He could just buy another one when the student store opened again on Monday. But today was Saturday, and it was raining. Everywhere in the mostly marble and wood dormitory was damp and cold. Now that he was out of his comfortable, warm bed, he had a chill running up and down his spine that wouldn't go away. Besides, the fact that he couldn't find it was maddening. He could have sworn that he saw the damned thing not too long ago, but now it was gone.

It's not like he didn't have other sweatshirts, but this one was the most comfortable – perfectly aged and oversized, soft from dozens of washings, the sleeves coming down over his hands. He could always drive over to his house and pick one up, but he had specifically opted out of his usual weekend trip home because his parents had invited his Aunt Mildred and her twelve God-forsaken kids down for the weekend, and he would be damned if he would subject himself to their endless screaming all day long.

The only other sweatshirt he had on hand fit tight around the chest and short above his wrists thanks to his last growth spurt. _And_ it wasn't a hoodie. He looked at the sad, grey sweatshirt, giving it a sharp tug in the hopes of loosening up the fabric. He pulled it on over his head, looked at himself in the mirror, and sneered. After breakfast, he was definitely going to jump online and order another sweatshirt. Fuck it. He'd order ten, but he'd slept in late and right now he seriously needed to head down to the commons and grab a bite before they closed. The weekend cafeteria staff kept such a tight schedule that even the infamous Sebastian Smythe couldn't charm them into bending the rules – some nonsense about them having lives or some such shit. He didn't care enough to remember.

He raced down the relatively empty hall (since on the weekend – even a rainy weekend – school was pretty much deserted), and got there with only enough time to get an egg white omelet and a banana walnut muffin. He set his tray down at an empty table when he spotted it – his hoodie, sitting at another table, wrapped around the body of a boy reading Chaucer and drinking coffee. He stared at it for an extra second to be sure. His hoodie had only one draw string…like this one. His hoodie had a permanent grass stain on the left shoulder…like this one. His hoodie was heather grey (unlike the newer hoodies Dalton sold with were a much darker shade of grey)…like this one. Sebastian couldn't imagine how someone would have gotten a hold of it since it never left his room and he didn't lend it out.

Sebastian didn't try to come up with an answer for the how. He was pissed. The bottom line was this prick, whoever he was, had gotten into his room and taken it.

Now Sebastian was going to take it back.

Sebastian took a step toward the table right as a hand peeked out from beneath the too-long sleeve to turn the page. Sebastian immediately recognized that hand – the pale skin, the perfectly manicured black painted nails, the row of gaudy silver spider and skull rings with red and black crystal eyes. He watched that hand retreat back into the sleeve and groaned.

_Fuck_! Sebastian thought.

The one boy on campus Sebastian made it a point to avoid.

The boy who had been expelled days before Sebastian transferred, and then was welcomed back with open arms when his father was elected to Congress.

The boy who, the day he arrived, managed to steal all of Sebastian's fake i.d. business.

The boy with purple hair, more piercings than a Matses tribesman, and (it was rumored) a SlipKnot tattoo on his dick.

Sebastian had to admit he wouldn't mind seeing if that rumor was true.

First, he had to get this punk ass out of his sweatshirt.

Sebastian approached the table and stopped, not bothering to sit, waiting for the boy to acknowledge him.

He didn't.

He licked his index finger, preparing to turn the page. Sebastian couldn't see his face completely, but he saw his pink tongue flick out from between his lips…and the barbell piercing that went straight through it.

Sebastian cleared his throat.

"Kurt," Sebastian said.

Kurt didn't answer right away, but he stopped in the middle of turning his page.

"Sebastian," Kurt responded dryly. "I thought you went to your folks on the weekends."

"I usually do," Sebastian confirmed, "but I didn't this weekend. Where's that little virgin ass you're always trying to tap? Doesn't he usually follow you around like a puppy and fetch your coffee for you?"

"If you're referring to Blaine, he's visiting his brother in L.A.," Kurt said, returning to his book. "And don't sound like such a pompous prick. You know you want to nail him, too."

That mention of Sebastian's failure was another log added to the fire. It was no secret that Sebastian had been trying to deflower Blushing Blaine Anderson since the moment he arrived at Dalton, but Blaine seemed to prefer twink punks to suave and sophisticated boys such as himself.

No love lost, really, but it still burned like a motherfucker.

"Great, well now that the small talk is out of the way, would you like to tell me what the fuck you're doing wearing my sweatshirt?"

Kurt still wouldn't look up at his inquisitor and Sebastian couldn't stand his contemptuous nonchalance. Kurt glanced down at the sleeve of the hoodie, and then back to his book.

"This isn't your sweatshirt," Kurt said.

"The fuck it isn't," Sebastian said, the volume of his voice rising.

"Why do you think this is your sweatshirt?" Kurt asked.

"Because, it's an older Dalton hoodie…"

"Which I bought my first week here," Kurt cut him off. "I _have_ been at Dalton longer than you, you know."

"It's missing a drawstring," Sebastian continued, laying out his evidence.

"Pfft," Kurt laughed. "Those fuckers are always the first thing to go. That doesn't prove shit."

He turned another page.

"That grass stain," Sebastian pointed out, "on the shoulder. I got that during lacrosse practice."

"There's more than one way to get a grass stain," Kurt said, finally looking up at Sebastian over the pages of his book, his blue eyes unsettlingly clear as he stared into Sebastian's face, "and I know all of the fun ones." Kurt winked and smiled – a smile so suggestively wicked that it almost succeeded in making Sebastian blush.

Sebastian rattled his brain. He knew this was his hoodie. He just knew it. He needed to win this argument hell or high water. He refused to be bested by skanky Kurt Hummel.

"Well, my hoodie had a barbecue sauce stain," Sebastian said, feeling triumphant, "on the inside right cuff. No matter what I did, I couldn't get it out."

Kurt stared unimpressed at Sebastian's smug face.

"Congratulations," Kurt said. "You're a failure at doing laundry."

"The point is," Sebastian said with an exaggerated eye roll, "that if _this_ hoodie has the same stain, then it's definitely mine."

Kurt raised his eyebrows.

"So?" he asked.

"So, show me your arm," Sebastian demanded, holding out his hand.

"Not a chance," Kurt said, turning back to his book, and with that he dismissed Sebastian. Sebastian shook with anger. Sebastian Smythe did not get dismissed. When Kurt reached out his right hand for his coffee, Sebastian pounced on him and grabbed his wrist.

"Hey!" Kurt wailed as Sebastian rolled up the sleeve. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, asshole?"

"I'm proving once and for all that you're nothing but a lying little thief—"

Sebastian rolled up the sleeve, but there was no stain. He looked all around the cuff, brought the fabric up to his face, but it was completely clean. Nothing stuck in between the fibers of the fabric, no faded spots. Nothing.

Sebastian was wrong. This wasn't his sweatshirt.

He had assaulted Kurt Hummel, and this wasn't even his sweatshirt.

Kurt tsked and tutted with gloat in his voice and amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Sebastian Smythe," he scolded, "you attacked me over a sweatshirt? I'm pretty sure that physical assault at Dalton is against school policy."

Sebastian dropped Kurt's arm and stood up quickly, backing away a step at Kurt's obvious threat. Usually he would make a snarky remark and name drop that his dad was a state's attorney, but Sebastian was pretty certain that Congressman trumped state's attorney any day.

"Sorry," Sebastian said, head slightly bowed, "my mistake."

"Ooo, I bet that hurt, didn't it?" Kurt teased. "To have to apologize and admit you were wrong all in the same sentence."

Sebastian's lip curled, but he kept his teeth locked down around his tongue. Kurt watched him warring in his head and decided to go a step further.

"You know, I could call the dean right now and get you suspended…possibly even expelled. I mean, I've been victimized."

Sebastian wasn't entirely sure that was true, but Dalton did have a no tolerance policy on bullying and assault. He had used that same ruse on other students, and they folded as easily as he was about to. True or not, he wasn't looking forward to finding out.

"What do I have to do?" Sebastian asked, hoping Kurt would make him part with a few hundred and leave it at that.

"Well," Kurt said, getting more comfortable, slouching down in his hard backed chair and setting his book on the table, "you back off my little boy toy, not that you had a chance with him anyway…" Kurt chuckled and Sebastian's jaw tightened till he was sure he was going to break a tooth. "_And_, you take me out to dinner…tonight."

Sebastian's eyes snapped up and glared at Kurt, sending hordes of murderous daggers his way.

"Fuck you," Sebastian growled, turning away.

"Ow!" Kurt moaned when Sebastian raised his foot to take a step. Sebastian threw a look over his shoulder and saw Kurt favoring his wrist, holding it up and cradling it tenderly. "I think…" Kurt twisted it slightly and then scowled with pain, "yes. You…you sprained it. Ow!" Kurt hissed through his teeth, but his lips couldn't stop their grinning.

"Fine, I'll take you to dinner," Sebastian grumbled, returning back to his table and his now cold breakfast.

"I'll shoot you the deets later, muffin butt," Kurt called over his shoulder, picking up his book and turning back to his bookmarked page. He heard Sebastian mutter, "Fuck you," again and grinned wider. The sound of Sebastian stabbing angrily at his breakfast plate echoed through the empty hall. Kurt peeked out carefully from behind the voluminous hood and watched him. Kurt turned further into the hood and breathed in deep. It was fading, but he could still catch a trace of it.

Hugo Boss.

Sebastian's favorite cologne.

The boy practically bathed in it, which was why it had taken so long for the smell to begin to fade. He took another sniff, focusing on the scent, wondering what it might smell like up close, on Sebastian's neck…or maybe on his naked chest.

Sebastian startled him, showing up at breakfast. He was normally gone Friday through Sunday, which was how Kurt managed to steal the hoodie to begin with. He only ever wore it to bed except for the weekends when Sebastian was gone. Then he didn't take it off.

It had been a bitch getting that stain out of the sleeve, but a lot of elbow grease, determination, and about a half dozen Tide To Go stain remover pens later and you couldn't tell it was ever there. He had intended on returning it, but now, it seemed, he really didn't have to. All he had to do was wait for Sebastian to leave campus so he could break back into his room and give it another spritz of cologne to refresh the smell.

He pulled out his iPhone. He'd figure out the particulars of that adventure later. For now, he had to find the most expensive restaurant in Westerville and make reservations.


End file.
